


Absolution

by DistantStorm



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Discussion of Hawthorne's Criminal Record, F/M, Pre-Relationship, The Red War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 14:11:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: A little insight on how Hawthorne ended up staying at the Tower after the war.





	Absolution

She can see it in his stride as he approaches them. Around her, the Guardians stand cheering, their formerly broken, bruised bodies returned to their penultimate glory. Light of all types seems to charge the air around them. **  
**

Ikora is swathed in purple void, the smile on her face true and genuine.

Cayde is practically dancing, the Golden Gun spinning in his hands.

And Zavala - he is not frowning or smiling. His eyes are set on hers. The hair sticks up on the back of her neck, and she’s not sure if it’s her nerves or his latent arc energy.

She raises a tentative hand in greeting, biting back the wince. She’d been swiped pretty good by one of the legionaries after they’d parted.

He notices, because of course he notices. The Guardians around him are so caught up in their joy they don’t see the faces of those around them covered in soot and bruises, the ones limping out of the way or treating others.

He instructs them swiftly to treat the wounded first before they celebrate, because it is their bravery that allowed them to overtake the Red Legion this day. Neither Ikora or Cayde argue. Not to think little of them, but Suraya is surprised they didn’t chastise him for the bellow of his voice. The Guardians are whole again. She doesn’t think anyone blames them for their response.

When he approaches her, she straightens and replaces the rifle on her back. Grimace. His lip pulls to the left. She knows it as concern.

“Come with me,” he says.

Only when they’re out of the eye of the other fighters does he assess her with open worry. She smiles. “Relax, Commander. Just some bumps and bruises. Unlike some of us, I didn’t get stepped on by the enemy.”

He ducks his head at that. She continues to follow him to the bottom of the Tower. “So, where ya taking me? Victory lap?”

He shakes his head in the negative, but doesn’t answer. She knows better by now than to push him, so she follows silently. They enter a mostly dilapidated portion of the Tower. He activates the emergency generator from a mostly intact console - it’s nothing short of a miracle that there’s still power - and the elevator doors open.

“Uh, Zavala, shouldn’t you be coming up here with your Fireteam?”

To that, he chuckles. “They know their way up. But, if I remember correctly, you and I have business we agreed to table until we won the war.”

She fidgets in the circular elevator. He’s far more comfortable with himself with his Light back. She can see it in his posture. “As happy as I am that you have your light back, please tell me you are not about to arrest me.”

His mouth sets into a hard line.

She scowls. “I want to punch you.” She makes sure she’s making eye contact. “Just so you know.”

The rest of the elevator ride is silent. It takes a solid five minutes, the car moving slow with how little power the generator is putting out. He can feel her reigning in her anger - or trying to - but she’s clearly upset. She’s pacing.

When the doors open, it’s to ruin. “We’ll traverse the rest on foot.”

They move slowly through the charred skeleton of the old Tower. Bodies of friend and foe are littered around the corners, most burnt to bone and ash. If that bothers her, she says nothing. He attempts to open a door and it falls over. She almost laughs at his shrug over the incident, but remembers herself.

The hallway they enter is mostly intact, and looks untouched. He takes her to the end of the hall, to a white door with a Vanguard Regalia embossed on it.

“This was my office, before the Red Legion attacked.”

“So is this an arrest and a trial now?”

His ghost appears, transmitting a file atop his desk. It’s a stark contrast to everything else, not covered in debris and dust. He reaches for it.

“Suraya Hawthorne.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you say my first name before.”

He opens the file, leading through it. “Evading arrest. Threatening Militia Officers. Arson. Assault. Theft.” He looks over the file at her. She fidgets, winces. She needs that shoulder looked at. “Thoughts?”

“Are you asking me if I’ve done those things?”

He nods. His eyes narrow.

She nods back. Resolute. “Guilty.”

“Anything you want to add?”

“No.” Her eyes are serious.

“Would you do it again?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose.

“So be it.” He looks around his office. Trivial things lay across his desk. Projects, contracts that will never matter. Outside the window, he can see the Traveler looming. Alive. His priorities have been realigned. “The first time I met you, do you remember what you said to me?”

She smiles a small, sad smile. “I do.”

“‘Who are you to call yourself a Guardian?’” He quotes, intonation flat. “‘You claim to be a man of service but when the time came to serve, you ran. You could have died in the City. You _should_ have. Because that would have been the noble option.’”

“‘I have been running all my life,’” She continues, remembering screaming these words at him with unbridled fury. “‘But when these people needed me, I answered the call. I came for them,’” She finishes softly, sure to meet his eyes to convey her lack of malice. “‘What’s your excuse?’”

He smiles knowingly. “I have lived for centuries, Suraya.” Something about how he says her name makes her feel a prickly feeling in her stomach. It’s not unpleasant, but it definitely should not be happening right now. “But you have shown me things I desperately needed to learn. Wherever there are Guardians, those are the walls. There, they protect. And,” He looks at the file one last time before throwing it on the desk. “Guardians are not those who simply wield the Light. They are anyone willing to fight for our cause.”

“Finally seeing it my way, huh?” She smirks. “I gotta say,” She drawls as she walks to the window, taking in the view, “this City ain’t half bad.”

“Interesting.” He strokes his chin. “I think I might have a solution to your predicament.”

“You mean, ‘my dubious and questionable past?’”

“Yes,” He grits his teeth around the word. “Stay here, in the City. Help us establish and lead the Clans. Advise the Vanguard.” He pauses. “In return, I will expunge the charges against you.” Her heartbeat quickens.

“And if I refuse?”

He sighs. “Then I thank you for your service and you’re free to go.”

“And the charges?”

He shakes his head. “Pardoned. You saved my life. It is the least I can do.”

She nods several times, thinking through it. “So, to be clear: I’m not being arrested.”

“No.”

“Basically, you need my help.”

“I will not beg you, Suraya.” He only has so much patience.

She laughs. “I’d be super freaked out if you did, but,” She trails off. “The Farm needs me. I need to oversee the re-assimilation of the refugees.”

“Then it sounds like you’d be doing exactly what I need you to do, Guardian.”

She shudders. It’s totally not the emotion she should be having right now. She steals a glance at him. He totally notices (damn him and that elegant eyebrow arch) and she blushes.

Oh well, she thinks, they’ve just won a war. So what if she’s a little hot ‘n bothered? It’s the heat of the moment. In a rare moment of confidence, she embraces it. “So, if I take this job, you’re really stuck with me. You sure you _really_ want me to do that to yourself?”

The laugh is a throaty rumble. “Does that mean you accept?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I look forward to it.”


End file.
